Disclaimer: This is an original story based upon the characters of Gilmore Girls. No profit will be made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Thank you to all who read and reviewed! I appreciate it!

Previously—Emily has died, and left Lorelai a cedar chest filled with different things. Last chapter Lorelai read the letter Emily had written her, and found a crystal bowl with a post-it note on it (Rory's Birthday Parties)

I reach in again, and pull out some kind of a book wrapped in tissue paper. I unwrap it carefully. "What?" I say out loud, wondering what this has to do with anything. It's a hymnal, an old and worn hymnal at that. It is missing the back binding, and the lettering is worn. There is a letter sticking out the front flap of the book. I pull in out and unfold it.

Lorelai

You probably don't remember this. Turn to page 252 and then read the rest of the letter.

I started flipping the pages, briefly remembering Sunday School songs from my childhood. As I got closer and closer to the number a memory snagged the back of my mind.

"Lorelai Victoria Gilmore!" I vaguely remember being led through the hall, my mother pulling me roughly along.

"You are such an embarrassment! Scribbling on the church hymnal! Are you a four-year-old Lorelai? What is wrong with you?

"Mommy…wait…"

More and more of the memory was coming back now. "

"Mommy…just read it, just read what I wrote!" I pleaded with her, I begged her to read it, but she kept on walking. "I'm sorry!" I started to cry. She turned around and took the book from my shaking hands. She glanced at the page and then shut it, and put it firmly on one of the tables. She turned to me,

"It is no excuse. Scribbling on the hymnals during church is unacceptable!" She said firmly without turning around to look at me.

I shook my head, as if to ward of the unpleasant memory. She was right, I had forgotten it and it was not one I wanted to remember. I had even forgot what I had written in the hymnal. I didn't want to remember that either so I stopped turning the pages and picked up the letter again.

This is probably an unpleasant memory for you. It was for me too. Carla Manson, an older lady in the congregation had seen you coloring in the hymnal and had started whispering behind the bench in such a loud whisper that everyone—including me could hear her. She said you were the most unruly child and that I must be a terrible mother to allow such a thing and I guess I just snapped. I was angry and embarrassed, you know that. What you don't know is that later that night I came back when everyone had gone home and searched every hymnal in the building trying to find that one again. I searched through about two-hundred books. I thought they may have thrown it away, and so I checked the refuse as well. I know, I know, that was a sight you would have liked to have seen. I couldn't find it and was terribly disappointed.

Years later, a few months after you left us I was getting my car serviced and decided to walk around downtown for awhile. I noticed a church rummage sale, and I don't know what made me go over to it, but I decided I would look around. Mostly the contributions were from parishioners, but there were a few items from the church—a few choir robes, some bibles and a few hymnals. I picked up a hymnal and started thumbing through it when to my surprise I came across page 252 and the message you had written me so long ago. How it came to that place, I have no idea, but I bought it and am now giving it to you because I want you to know, that I would have gladly paid a thousand dollars for this old hymnal that day—it meant that much to me.

I folded the letter up, placing it on top of the other one, and once again started flipping the pages until I reached page 252. There in scratchy writing of a seven year old was written in blue crayon, "My Mommy is the best mommy, and prittyist, and kindist and funnest in the world and I luv her."